


Heirloom

by WriterRose



Series: Roads/Hobbits in Erebor AU [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: (they're like preteens now but still little babies if you ask the dwarves), Baby Hobbits, Birthdays, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood Trauma, Dealing with past trauma, Gen, Growing Up, merry and his teen angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterRose/pseuds/WriterRose
Summary: “Though if you ask me, I think it's to do with the fact that we’re more like mentors to dear Merry, my brothers and I.” Dori furthered.Fíli let out a short, sharp laugh. “More like mothers, if you ask me.”Dori glowered. “I’m trying to be serious here, your Highness. He thinks differently of you - Merry.” he elaborated. “He looks up to you, yes, but there’s also a...a certainsimilarnessthat can’t be ignored.”Merry's twentieth birthday is approaching and there's something that seems to be troubling the young hobbit. Fíli's been tasked with discovering exactly what that may be, though he has doubts that he's the right dwarf for the job.[Set 3 years after my ficAll Roads Go Ever On. Spoilers for that fic ahead!]
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dori & Nori & Ori & Merry Brandybuck, Fíli (Tolkien) & Merry Brandybuck, Kíli (Tolkien) & Pippin Took, those last three are mentioned but still present
Series: Roads/Hobbits in Erebor AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1237028
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song [Heirloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lj-LIRXWcow) by Sleeping At Last. Give it a listen if you get the chance. The song's constantly inspiring me and was also a major mood-setter for this fic.
> 
> I'm super excited to finally be sharing another installment in the Roads series with you guys. Fili and Merry didn't get to have as many interactions in the first fic because of how the story was set up, and thus this fic was born! It's pretty self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-beta'd. I tried to re-read and catch all my mistakes but there's probably still stuff I missed. Sorry about that.

“I still don’t understand what you want from _me,_ Dori.”

The sigh that Dori gave seemed to be one of a dwarf doing everything within his power to prevent himself from engaging in a physical demonstration of his frustrations. He had a hand to his temple and everything as he looked off in the distance at something unseen and steadied his breathing. Fíli suspected he was counting off in his head, to cool himself down. He wondered if the fussy old dwarf counted up or down when he was particularly frustrated?

“Let me try this again...” Dori began once more, the even cadence of his tone not sounding as effortless as he hoped, no doubt. “It has become evident that young Master Meriadoc needs to have a little _chat_ with someone and the unanimous decision has been made that it is _you_ with whom he must have it with.”

 _This_ little chat that Fíli was currently having with Dori was rather surprising, the young dwarf had to admit. Though not the circumstances that have caused it to come about, Fíli mused as he allowed his mind to ponder over said circumstances...

The hobbits had been with them at the Mountain for a good few years now. Merry had mellowed out in his years spent in Erebor - well, ‘mellowed’ wasn’t quite the right word. He and that young cousin of his had caused Dori ceaseless conniption fits since they had moved here, not to mention the heart attacks he’s almost caused the other dwarves with his everyday endeavors - his life’s mission seemingly to traverse every mile and explore every crevice of the Mountain with reckless abandon - but he wasn’t so angry any more, which was what was most important, the dwarves concluded. However, for some reason, the weeks leading up to the young hobbit’s next birthday had brought Merry back to the moody disposition he had clung close to during the hobbits’ early months in the Mountain. 

He was going to be a tweenager, a stage of adolescence in which some Hobbits could grow particularly moody, Bilbo had warned. Sam was of course a tweenager already, being three years Merry’s senior. However, he was Sam and not prone to expressing his adolescent frustrations. Rather, he’d simply walk off to the Greenhouse and take his anger out on any unfortunate weeds that happened to be sprouting. Merry, on the other hand, was famous for his fits. Primarily those he had whilst on the journey to Erebor - or so Fíli’s been told. 

And though his general mood had improved over the years, Fíli had to admit that it was inarguable that Merry had been getting rather snippy lately. He had been keeping to himself for the most part, refusing anyone’s suggestions of assistance when it came to finding enough gifts for their large, extended company (Fíli still thought that Hobbits did birthdays quite backwards, with the attendees being the ones to receive gifts from the birthday-haver, but he’s learned to accept the queer custom at this point). Merry’s also taken to sneaking off to spend time on his own - even away from Pippin - which caused Bilbo and Dori endless worry but didn’t seem to bother anyone else much. Frodo didn’t seem all that bothered by it after all, and the Company’s learned to trust his judgment over Bilbo’s when it came to the children since he didn’t make a habit out of worrying needlessly about them.

No, what surprised Fíli most about Dori’s request was the fact that it was _Dori_ himself coming to Fíli with said request. The dwarf was never one to gripe about matters he deemed personal, not to mention he was very _protective_ over those he deemed part of his pack. Him coming to Fíli and asking for his help in such a matter was quite the accomplishment for the proud, stubborn old dwarrow.

Make no mistake, he was fond of all the hobbitlings, but like the rest of the dwarves, Dori had taken a shine to one hobbit lad in particular, that being Merry. 

There was an unspoken agreement amongst all the dwarves that each grouping of family would take a more active role in the rearing of an individual lad to one, give poor Bilbo a break when he needed one and two, not overwhelm the lads with too much attention from so many sources. The Company of course cared for all the lads, but divided attention seemed best in some cases, like now. 

That being said, the Ri Brothers had ended up keeping an eye on Merry more often than not. Unlike the other bonds formed between the dwarves and hobbitlings, Merry and the Ris’ began more surprisingly. At first glance, the lad didn’t seem to have much in common with the three dwarves. Why, Fíli thought himself to have more in common with the boy. However, he’s come to realize that that sentiment isn’t exactly true. 

For one, Merry was quite astute - more so than Fíli’s ever been at any age - so it made sense that he and Ori got on so well. Ori certainly gained endless joy from conversing with the lad in all sorts of matters of study and history, Merry admittedly doing more listening than chatting, but seeming to enjoy himself all the same. In fact, last Fíli heard, the two were working on an ‘official’ written guide to Hobbit meals to give to Bombur in time for Merry’s birthday. It supposedly included a few recipes from Bilbo and some that Frodo and Merry were able to remember of the lad’s grandmother and mother. (A bit of prying also revealed to Fíli that as an added, surprise gift to Merry himself, Ori planned on having it bound and finished with gold leaf lettering. That would certainly make it look very official, indeed).

There was also Nori, to whom Merry had become another protege of, of sorts. With Bilbo’s blessing, the lads were permitted to begin offensive lessons in combat when they became tweenagers (Thorin had argued mid-adolescence is when Dwarves started to take their combat training rather seriously and the lads so desired to fit in with the dwarflings of the Mountain, so Bilbo eventually agreed - after putting up quite the fight).

Nori of course couldn’t wait for the day Merry was ‘officially’ deemed old enough however, so he had taken to teaching the lad the basics of knife throwing in secret. The only reason Fíli knew so was because the smithy had let slip that he had designed a new set of throwing knives ‘to replace Master Meriadoc’s second-hand set’ last the prince saw him, so Fíli being the responsible adult that he was, acquired the name of said commissioner from the smithy and then went to talk to Nori about such a curious statement. (Nori denied it of course, but after Fíli got Merry to expertly hold and then throw one of the prince’s own personal knives - the lad never one to _not_ show off when provided the opportunity - Nori of course couldn’t help but do the same, proudly basking in the results of his tutelage of the lad, who was apparently quite the marksman). 

And then there was Dori, who’s relationship with the lad was the most curious to work out. Maybe it was because Merry was to him a strange amalgamation of his two younger brothers? Maybe it was because Dori’s mannerisms were more aligned with those of a Hobbit than a Dwarf? Whatever the reason, Dori had welcomed Merry under the Ri name with open arms. Honestly, the lad’s name might as well have ended with an ‘i’.

Though Fíli wasn’t jealous. He had of course may had wanted to take on such a role with the lad himself, but Kíli was quite keen on little Pippin and at the time when everyone was fighting over which dwarves got to claim which hobbit, Ori claimed it unfair the royal brothers should get two lads, so to the Ris Merry went. In any case, where Pippin went, so often Merry followed and vice versa, so it wasn’t like Fíli never saw the lad. 

Even still, Fíli’d imagine such a serious talk as the one that Merry apparently needed would’ve been better left to one of the three Ri Brothers, his unofficial guardians. Or Mahal, not to mention Bilbo or Frodo. Not Fíli, of all choices.

He voiced as much. 

“Frodo has apparently already worked out the problem, clever lad that he is, and thinks a Dwarf best suited for such a talk.” Dori explained, looking like he thought he had already made this fact abundantly clear. He probably did, in all honesty, but Fíli’s brain didn’t feel much like working properly today, apparently. “He says none of the other hobbits can quite relate to Merry in this instance. Especially Frodo himself or Bilbo.”

“What _is_ the problem?” Fíli asked.

“He didn’t say.” Dori answered, looking miffed that he apparently wasn’t allowed to be in the know but understanding of Merry’s privacy all the same. “Just that _you_ would probably be best suited to have this conversation with him.”

“I see… And Frodo didn’t say why _I’m_ best suited?” Fíli continued. 

Dori looked fondly exasperated. “You know Frodo. If he’s planned something and doesn’t want you to know what…” he trailed purposefully. 

“...you won’t.” Fíli finished for him, understanding finally washing over him. That lad was being aloof again because he had a specific plan in mind, one that involved Fíli. He should have figured as much.

“Though if you ask me, I think it’s to do with the fact that we’re more like mentors to dear Merry, my brothers and I.” Dori furthered.

Fíli let out a short, sharp laugh. “More like mothers, if you ask me.”

Dori glowered. “I’m trying to be serious here, your Highness. He thinks differently of you - Merry.” he elaborated. “He looks up to you, yes, but there’s also a...a certain _similarness_ that can’t be ignored.”

Fíli was being worn down, make no mistake. He felt something like gladness or pride flutter inside of him at that last statement, but he still had a hard time believing that such a serious situation - if one did indeed exist - was meant to have him as the one to mend it. “What makes you all think there’s even something that the lad wants to talk about?”

Dori then faced him with a look that suggested he thought Fíli quite the simpleton. “Need I remind you of Samwise’s twentieth?” he simply posed.

 _Ah,_ now Fíli did in fact feel like he was quite the dolt. For how could he forget the events of that day? It was so soon after the hobbits as-of-now permanent move to the Mountain, so of course they expected _some_ possible issues, but no one expected such a total break down from stoic Sam, of all potential victims. Poor lad felt like quite the villain for trying to enjoy himself on his birthday without his family present and it led to quit the fiasco... 

Merry, the most vocal about his anger and sadness over being displaced from the hobbits’ homeland, was no doubt going through a similar...grieving process?

 _Mahal,_ Fíli was already no good at this. He wasn’t meant for, for hobbit-rearing. But he supposed he’d already made up his mind. He’d give his life for those little gems.

“Fair enough.” Fíli eventually agreed with a sigh as he now took a similar position as Dori had earlier on in their conversation, rubbing at his temples with one hand to ease himself of the stress headache he already felt coming on. “I’ll give it a go. But I make no promises that I won’t somehow make the situation worse! You know how Merry can get when he’s in one of his moods...”

Dori looked a mixture of both satisfied he had accomplished his mission but also displeased that he couldn’t be the one to fix the problem in the first place. Though in the end he knew it to be the best solution, for Merry’s sake. 

(...Besides, he could always step in and clean up the young prince’s mess should he somehow make the situation worse).

“Very good, your Highness.” Dori returned with a grin far too broad for Fíli’s liking.

Fíli flashed him a suspicious look, though he had more pressing matters to deal with, apparently.

* * *

It was easy enough for Fíli to get some alone time with the lad. It wasn’t like they were strangers after all, he and Merry. They got along rather well, actually, much to Kíli and Pippin’s utter delight. It was just that between Pippin and the Ris and Fíli’s duties as Heir, they didn’t get that much time to spend together, especially just the two of them. 

Fortunately enough, Fíli had the perfect cover for their talk. As the de facto Ambassador to Dale, it was simple enough to take a day off from his duties by claiming that there were matters to be seen to in the city of Men. Merry getting to accompany him - as a birthday treat - would just be purely opportunal, _not at all_ like the whole outing was planned entirely for his sake to begin with.

Bilbo was very opposed to the idea at first, of course, but both Uncle and Mother were able to convince him that Merry was primarily, perfectly safe in Dale with Fíli and Men looking after him and secondly, old enough to take trips into the city without Bilbo standing watch. 

It had been three years with no word on Fumbul, after all. And even if the goblin was still around, Fíli doubted he’d slink his way into the city of Men. It’d be suicide. (Though part of Fíli wished that the goblin would try it, if only to permanently rid everyone of the terror that the long-absent creature caused them…)

After Fíli agreed to an escort there and back from the city, Bilbo reluctantly agreed to the trip himself. _‘Children have to grow up sometime,’_ Frodo had chirped, sounding far too pleased at his uncle’s expense, which only had Bilbo somehow grimacing even more. Even though he did end up agreeing, the thought of such a potentially dangerous trip made Bilbo quite miserable in the days leading up to it. He accused the dwarves of being overprotective of the lads some days and too reckless with them the next, though the hobbit himself was without a doubt the biggest purveyor of overprotectiveness.

Maybe that was why Fíli ended up being saddled with Gimli as a guard inside the city? Despite it being a usual occurrence more often than not, Uncle must’ve been feeling a particular brand of pity for his partner - and maybe a bit of paranoia for the young hobbit lad himself - when he deemed his nephew alone wasn’t fit for such a task. Maybe he even harbored some resentment over the last time a hobbit was the subject of Fíli’s solo visit to Dale… 

However, the ever too-serious Gimli was a small price to pay for the look of joy on Merry’s face as they strolled into Dale, the boy free of the burdens of a mischievous younger cousin to keep an eye on and an overprotective Bilbo constantly hovering over his shoulder.

(Of course, young Pippin did protest to Merry going off on such a grand adventure without him, but after Kíli promised the lad a full day of his own undivided attention _and_ a trip to the Mirkwood when he was old enough, Pippin had finally settled down. Though Fíli had a sneaking suspicion that the lad’s definition of ‘old enough’ was more along the lines of ‘next year’. Or ‘next week’ more like).

Despite the motivations for his actions, Fíli really did want to make the day out with Merry something special, not just treat it as a means to have that talk that Dori and the others wanted them to have. It was the lad’s birthday. An important one, which deserved to be celebrated to its fullest because he was a very dear lad, not to mention so far from home…

So, Fíli, Merry, and an ever watchful Gimli then found themselves pursuing the stalls of Dale’s Grand Market, Merry looking for possible gifts to get for those at the Mountain he still needed to procure one for and Fíli keeping an eye out for anything the lad seemed to want for himself. 

The boy was quite easy to read, Fíli couldn’t help but note. When shopping for others, Merry was very opaque. He’d show no hesitation reaching out and grabbing ahold of whatever caught his fancy. He’d then become very chatty, rattling off his rather solid reasoning as to why he’d think the object he was currently turning every which way in his hands and inspecting was a good choice for whomever he had in mind. 

So far in his gift hunt, Merry had found an admittedly beautiful roll of shiny thread for Dori, a rollable leather cloth clutch that had differently sized loops for holding various tools for Nori, a type of beard oil for Balin, and after jokingly suggesting a toupee for Dwalin, the lad eventually settled on a sharpening stone for his axes. Merry had also found an etching of a Man-made carving that appeared to tell Dwarven history for Ori. Though none of the information on the scroll was anything new Fíli had pointed out to the lad, or entirely accurate, to the dwarf’s knowledge.

“It’s interesting to know what other cultures think of you though, isn’t it?” Merry had argued with a shrug as he inspected the etching. “My Da always said that you know yourself best once you know what other people think of you.” he furthered with a wistful look, which just confirmed Fíli’s suspicions that the lad was much too smart to be left in his keeping.

When Merry wanted something for himself though, it was an entirely different matter.

He’d stop whatever idle chatter he’d be giving, his eyes locked straight on whatever had caught his interest. He’d then jerk his hand, as if wanting to make a grab for the object of his desires but some unseen force had prevented him from doing so. He’d then look at whatever he wanted for a few moments more before he’d reluctantly turn his eyes away and move onto the next stall, all barely discernible to the untrained eye, but Fíli has had much experience dealing with sneaky hobbitlings as of late.

So far Fíli’s noticed Merry show interest in a bag of marbles with little glass creatures captured within them, like dragons and trolls and sword-wielding knights and what looked to be a sorry rendition of a dwarf with an axe. He also eyed a belt that looked to have a holster for a dagger and a compartment that looked to be intended for coins. It looked meant for a human child, though it was still no doubt too big for Merry... Though that did not mean that they couldn’t have it resized back in Erebor, Fíli thought.

After Merry would forcefully pull himself away from the stalls that housed the objects of his interest, Fíli would then discreetly walk up to the vendor and ask them to put aside the item, sliding them a gold coin as a deposit, of sorts. He’d later send Gimli with the rest of the money to stealthily fetch the items when he and Merry were having their chat.

Fíli knew Bilbo would no doubt accuse him of spoiling the lad, but the dwarf couldn’t help it. He felt like an ancient old grandmother, but _Mahal,_ Merry and the other lads deserved all the spoiling in the world, in his eyes.

(Besides, in their years of birthdays at the Mountain, Bilbo’s long come to expect the dwarves to ‘go overboard’ as he put it, when it came to him and the lads. How could they not? They were under explicit orders from Thorin to _‘spare no expense’._ Though it wasn’t like the other dwarves needed to be told to do so in the first place).

Gifts for the others long procured, a packaged-ladened Gimli, an impatient Fíli, and a focused Merry had now been fixed at a stand selling flowers for what felt like an age. Which was entirely Fíli’s fault, Merry had pointed out when Fíli had finally voiced his complaints (even if it was the lad’s birthday coming up, there was only so long someone could look at flowers, the dwarf reasoned with himself).

The reason Fíli was in this sorry flower picking predicament now was because he had made the mistake of telling Merry that Bard’s daughters would be meeting up with them that afternoon. Fíli had written to them to arrange for their visit, as the princesses had a penchant for moving their requests for entry along rather speedily when they were made personally aware, usually having them granted within hours upon their receival. Though upon learning that Merry’s big birthday was coming up, they insisted on meeting up and personally delivering the lad a surprise of some kind in exchange for granting them entry, hence Fíli’s current plight. It just wouldn’t be proper for Merry not to give the Princesses of Dale something for his birthday, after all. 

Though the time it was taking for Merry to pick out some flowers was getting ridiculous. Fíli wondered if even Sam would take so long.

“I wasn’t aware you planned on courting the fair Princesses of Dale. You must be very eager to please them if it’s taking you this long to make a choice.” Fíli teased the lad, finding he could simply stand in wait no longer. “Can’t you just give them - and the other dwarves for that matter - a rock or a seed or whatever else you find on the ground and be done with it?” he suggested. Personally, he rather liked the stones and nuts and broken pieces of metal he had acquired over the years from the youngest of the Mountain’s guests.

“I can’t be giving you such things at my age. Pip’s too young to gift properly, unlike me. And not all flowers are romantic.” Merry informed, tone suggesting he thought Fíli as much a simpleton as Dori did. He also gave Fíli quite the scathing look right proper for his age for that comment about the ladies they were to be meeting, before turning his eyes back to the colorful offerings nestled within their vases. 

“They’ll wither and die by the time you’ve made your selection. The girls and the flowers.” Fíli goaded. 

Merry didn’t take the bait however, revealing just how focused he was on his selection. “The art of flower gifting is like the art of cloud gazing, my Gran used to say.” he calmly continued as he scratched his chin, as if in deep thought. “Takes a focused mind and some patience.”

“To pick flowers and gaze at clouds?” Fíli scoffed skeptically.

“No.” Merry immediately answered as he gently turned a purple flower to face him. Fíli didn’t find it immediately impressive. He didn’t particularly see the draw to flowers in the first place, but this flower that Merry had picked out looked sort of...disproportionate? It was an odd shape for something so delicate and (supposedly) lovely. “You have to take your time to _really_ look at something and then you’ll find a worth and meaning that isn’t readily obvious.” Merry continued, voice sounding somewhat reminiscent, as though he were directly quoting someone. Probably his aforementioned ‘gran’. 

And of course Fíli was immediately corrected, and feeling like a huge dolt, as the hobbits were so often capable of doing. _Hobbits were always so philosophical…_

Seeming to have finally made up his mind with that thought, Merry then purchased his flowers and looked to Fíli as the woman at the stall carefully rolled them up into some parchment and handed them over. “I’ve learned to be quite good at it in fact.” the lad began once more before he then flashed the dwarf a crooked grin, looking very smug about something. “For example, I can see beyond your daft face and realize there’s a halfway decent fellow somewhere behind it.”

 _Ah yes, philosophical, but then right back to being quite the cheeky little pests,_ Fíli was swiftly reminded.

Gimli let out a suspicious choked cough a moment after Merry’s comment that had Fíli narrowing his at him as well as the lippy lad in front of him. “Oi, cheeky. You’re well on your way to a birthday beating if you keep that up.”

Merry merely sniggered, seeing the hollow threat for what it was. And as per his usual luck, before Fíli could offer a proper comeback to the wee lad who thought himself to have won this verbal battle of wits, a voice called out enthusiastically;

“Fíli! Merry!”

The trio then all turned to see Tilda waving enthusiastically from the end of the street at them before she took off in their direction. She was accompanied by her sister and the four guardsmen flanking them, though as usual, she outmatched them in enthusiasm and speed. Barely paying mind to the surprised market goers who cleared the way for her and offered their respectful greetings, she was cutting her way to the trio in no time. Gimli righted himself in attention and Merry’s hands tightened ever so gently around the bundled flowers he carried.

“And dear Gimli.” Tilda added once she finally reached them. Then all within the same breath she said, “It’s good to see you again! How are you all? Happy birthday, Merry!” before she dropped to her knees and pulled said boy into a tight hug, the paper to the flowers crinkling noisily as Merry shot his arm holding them out of the way, having narrowly avoided them being crushed in the middle of their embrace.

“Alright, Tilda, that’s enough. No need to stop his breathing now that he’s another year older.” Sigrid jested once she and the guards had finally arrived after the energetic Tilda.

“Princess Sigrid. Princess Tilda.” Fíli greeted with a short polite bow, Gimli following suit.

Finally releasing Merry from her hold and obeying her sister, Tilda then stretched to her full height, which made Fíli feel unbearably old and somewhat miffed. The youngest daughter of King Bard had quite the late growth spurt the last few years. Though now - _thank Mahal_ \- it seemed she had finally stopped, for she had stayed the same constant height for the last year or so. 

Even still, gone was the little girl Fíli had met all those years ago back in Lake-town. Why, Tilda now stood taller than her own elder sister, not to mention she nearly matched her brother in height. 

Though what Tilda advantaged in height, Sigrid made up for in mass. Her years of weapons training and time spent outdoors in a mimicry of the practices of the Rangers had increased her body’s build. Her shoulders were broad now and even underneath the fine fabrics of the gowns she was made to wear for public appearances in the city, Fíli could still make out the subtle-yet-present muscle in her arms. She was rather physically imposing compared to what most expected from a human princess, Fíli imagined.

“Prince Fíli. Gimli.” Sigrid greeted evenly, drawing Fíli from his runaway thoughts. “It’s good to see you again.” she added with an honest, though soft smile. On any other, such a delicate expression would not match their wearer’s build, but Fíli could not help but think that the soft smiles suited Sigrid quite well. 

“And little Lord Merry.” the eldest princess continued, looking down to said hobbit before she seemed to consider something. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be using such embarrassing terms of endearment on you any longer. Not suited for a teenager, I should think.” she said in mocking self-reproval, the quirk of her lip and the light in her eyes revealing her words to be teasing.

Merry pointedly looked away, though the flush to his cheeks betrayed his unaffected front. _“Tweenager_ actually, your Highness.” he corrected before clearing his throat and continuing, “Though you can refer to me however you like...”

Merry was the most transparent of all the hobbits - second only to Pippin - so even the human princesses found him endearing. Despite his plucky attitude, he was as bashful as Sam at times. 

“It only makes sense,” Tilda then started. “He’s in his _twenties,_ now. He’s passed his _teen-_ aged years. And all before I have, too!” she cried out in dismay, followed by a feigned pout.

“Yes, but our teenaged years and his tweenaged years are essentially the same.” Sigrid reminded in a tone that suggested the sisters had thoroughly discussed Hobbit aging before. “And his body’s always been older than you, Tilda, just not his mind.”

“Well, I suppose that does and doesn’t make sense, like most of the things you say.” Tilda eventually conceited. Sigrid gave a huff at that, seeming as though she very much wanted to roll her eyes but had far too much restraint for such a thing.

Merry then seemed to find this a fine time to finally bestow his gift to the ladies present. Without much aplomb, he held out the bouquet of flowers to the pair of princesses. Their confusion blinks were nearly in sync with one another as they stared down at the offering. “Here you go.” Merry simply declared. Though the two ladies were long since used to such a lack-luster bestowment from one-such-lad.

Tilda’s smile grew tenfold, if such a notion were possible. She must have missed that the boy was holding them when she had attacked him earlier. Not that the particular gift should surprise her in any sense. Receiving flowers from the hobbits on their birthdays or just plain old visits had come to be one of the human girls’ most favorite occasions, apparently. For unlike the men of their city, the hobbits never offered them in courtship, but as a sign of admiration and thoughtfulness (or so Sigrid had once confided to Fíli).

“Oh, Merry. You Hobbits sure do know the way to a girl’s heart.” Tilda sighed in a teasing tone as she graciously accepted the gift. She then handed the bouquet to her sister and proceeded to pull a pink flower out of the bundle and then tucked it behind her ear. “And so it begins!” Tilda then proclaimed, in reference to the little guessing game she had invented. Aware that Hobbits assigned specific meanings to specific plants and flowers, Tilda took to guessing what she believed the flower she had been gifted to mean. The game could become rather tiring at times admittedly, what with her just shouting out random descriptors during their outings at any given moment. This little game of guessing almost always ended with Tilda giving up and Merry keeping the answer to himself with a smug little grin, apparently finding some amusement in the game as well, since he’d let it continue for so long. There was presently a year-long streak of Tilda not guessing the exact meaning of the flower currently tucked behind her ear. Frankly, it was driving everyone mad, Gimli and the human guards especially. Merry of course took even more pleasure from that.

Though before the guessing game could commence, Sigrid deterred the conversation with a different topic. Fíli could hear one of the princesses’ guardsmen literally sigh in relief.

“Before we do that though,” Sigrid started once more, directing her attention from her sister to Merry. “we also know that it isn’t customary for Hobbits to receive gifts on their birthdays—”

“Which is a rather silly notion!” Tilda chimed in. Fíli couldn’t help but agree.

“—but what with this being such an important one and all, Tilda, our father, and I wanted to gift you with something special in return.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Merry answered evenly, Bilbo having trained him well in not outright showing his ‘avaricious’ reactions to such offers, but it seemed Fíli’s ability to read the lad outweighed that. Merry’s eyebrows were amusingly raised in interest, a tell tale sign of his genuine intrigue.

Sigrid smiled in a way that suggested she had a sneaking suspicion of the falsity to the lad’s carefully constructed composure as well. Her smile also suggested she knew just the words to break that facade and was looking forward to it. She then said in a playfully conspiratory tone, “A little birdie told me that you are quite the water-farer.”

And as if by magic, Merry’s stoic resolve crumbled and his expression morphed to one of unhindered surprise, as if such a statement was the last thing that he had expected to hear. 

It was a surprising fact, actually. Fíli hadn’t known that of the lad himself and he’d be impressed that Sigrid knew so if he hadn’t the sneaking suspicion that ‘a little birdie’ went by the name of Frodo Baggins.

Though despite his surprise and initial doubt - small, hill-dwelling Hobbits and water-living hardly seemed a natural match after all - Fíli knew the statement to be true, for a broad excited grin soon split across Merry’s face and his eyes held more light than Fíli had seen them hold in a long time.

Even after all these years, the hobbits could still surprise him, it seemed. Fíli only wished that this was a surprise he could get behind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this in the works for a while now, but have been hitting multiple snags in getting it finished... I have a good chunk of part 2 written and a pretty clear idea for the ending. I figured posting this first chapter here first would at least get me a bit motivated to finished both those up. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Sigrid and Tilda had planned for the group a picnic on a secluded patch of shore of the Long Lake, one free of debri and lined by mostly rock-free sand, perfect for setting a blanket atop and sitting on. 

After setting up for them, the princesses’ guardsmen sat off separately to the side, giving their wards their privacy while still keeping them in sight in such an open area. At Fíli’s instruction, Gimli headed off back to the market to make arrangements for the surprise gifts for Merry to be sent back to Erebor ahead of the group. He grumbled, of course, but considered the task more one for Master Meriadoc than for Fíli, so he didn’t gripe as much as he normally would have, like all the other times when the prince would inevitably dismiss him from his guard duties.

Fíli, Merry, and the two princesses then dined in to a delicious prepared assortment of breads and fruits and cheeses and bubbly juices as the ladies and Fíli recounted a(n appropriate) retelling of their half of the Battle with Smaug, all those years ago on the very lake in front of them. Merry listened aptly, rarely chiming in with his questions or opinions like he so often did with Bilbo’s retellings. This was a side to the story he had never heard before, after all. 

While it was no doubt painful to relive that awful night for the human girls who had lost their home and for Fíli who had nearly lost his brother, it was admittedly rather therapeutic to tell it to Merry in such a way, as if it were an ancient tale of their people and not something that only happened a little over a decade ago, to themselves personally. And it was admittedly comforting and flattering to see Merry reacting to their tale not with terror, but with awe and amazement over their brave deeds and heroic resolve. Fíli believed he understood Bilbo and his fondness for storytelling a little bit better in that moment.

Though there were many things about Hobbits Fíli still didn’t fully understand, particularly about the hobbit lad who was subject of his current task. As he usually liked to on subjects that eluded him, he sought answers from someone he trusted to give him an honest opinion.

“I admit, it is an odd trait to have, for what I know a Hobbit to be.” Sigrid had said in reference to Fíli’s own curiosity over Merry’s recently-revealed apparent fondness for being on bodies of water. “Though what I do know is not much to begin with.”

“You and me both.” Fíli sighed as he watched Tilda and Merry splash around in the shallows of the lake, the hem of the boy’s trousers and the girl’s dress darkening with moisture as the lake’s wind-swept waves kissed them with their tiny crests. Fíli himself has had personal experience trying to muck up seemingly hidden information about Hobbits prior to knowing them personally. In general, they were a hard bunch to pin down, for they seemed to both follow their peoples’ customs to a tee but also break each and every preconceived notion ever made of them.

“Though I’ve been informed by a reputable source that it is a rather uniquely Merry trait.” Sigrid revealed, nodding her head in the direction of the wee lad who was carelessly bending down and wading around in the water as much as the sake of his clothes dryness would allow, in spite of the fact that if he walked only a few more paces, he’d be completely submerged. Or worse yet, swept away by the waves that now seemed less gentle and more looming the further in Merry continued to travel. Fíli felt his anxiety climb just a bit more at that realization. 

“Apparently, not many Hobbits are at peace on the water.” Sigrid continued, pulling Fíli from his harried thoughts. “Merry’s from a family that is, however. Was.” she amended, sounding saddened by her own reminder. 

Fíli merely hummed in resigned understanding. He supposed the second half of the girls’ gift to Merry was fitting, then. They had arranged for a private boat ride on the lake that Fíli himself wasn’t much looking forward to. 

Now, he had nothing against water-faring people. It was just that he admittedly took after his own people in his sentiments towards such fancies; he had too much of a preference for solid earth beneath his boots. However, he couldn’t deny that being on an expansive lake alone would be the perfect opportunity for he and Merry to have their little overdue chat, which he was presently mucking up his courage and confidence for from Sigrid as Merry and Tilda had their fun.

“I got the impression that Frodo himself isn’t quite so fond of it.” Sigrid then continued, sounding as if she were musing aloud and that the thought somewhat disturbed her.

Fíli decided he’d dwell on the slightly harrowing fact of the young hobbit’s apparently unaccompanied trip to Dale to divulge such information at a later date and instead inquired into the bit that was more worrying, “How do you mean?”

Sigrid would have shrugged had she been so free with her physical expressions. Instead, she merely continued to look off to where the large expanse of water morphed the far shoreline into the horizon and said, “I don’t know. Like the fact of the matter made him uncomfortable, I suppose. He told me it was just his personal preference to avoid it, but it seemed more personal than he let on, if you understand my meaning?”

Also storing away the incredibly useful information that Sigrid apparently was the only living creature in Middle-earth who could get a read on Frodo for later, Fíli instead had a realization. 

He’d been going about this all wrong. It wasn’t that Fíli didn’t know too little about Hobbits to properly connect with young Merry, it was that Fíli did not know enough personally about _Merry_ himself. Fíli really hadn’t gotten to know the lad very well in years he’s lived in the Mountain. That is, he didn’t know much about his past before coming to Erebor - not that the lad seemed to want to talk about it. It was no secret that thinking of the Shire and what he lost affected him deeply. 

Though Fíli had never even tried to ask the lad about what he lost; he never asked about his family. It should have been obvious that missing his family is what was causing Merry strife now. The lack of his family on such an important birthday is precisely what had upset Sam so greatly at the time of his twentieth, after all. 

Fíli was a fool, he’d missed all the signs of Merry’s feelings of familiar loss. The way Merry could recount family recipes from the top of his head, the earnesty with which he recited his family's strange -isms, the uncharacteristic seriousness in which he honored his people’s customs and traditions...

Merry was not just _a_ Hobbit. He was a Brandybuck. The sole Brandybuck in all of Middle-earth, without his family to guide him through his growing pains, without a family to teach him the traditions he did not yet know or remember. And the more years that went by without word on his people, the more it seemed that the little memories he did have of home and family would have to serve as his only guidance for the rest of his life.

And Fíli was a fool for all these reasons, but chieftest of all because he should have recognized all these signs for what they were much sooner, because Fíli himself grew up in a similar way in which Merry was now; he had plenty of father figures, but no _Father_ to be there when it counted. To be there for the important things, to guide him. To show him who he was meant to be. Instead, what he had was a father who was taken away from him by no means of his own. It was a particular pain that Fíli understood all too well, which must have been why Frodo thought Fíli the perfect person to have this discussion with Merry. They both had legacies to learn and carry, but not the guides that they so deeply desired to help them do so.

“Figured it out, have you.” Sigrid then stated, more so than asked, drawing Fíli from his thoughts. She was watching him with an expression that looked a mixture of impressed and sympathetic. She had a knack for reading others in general and apparently found the sad realization on Fíli’s face plain to see.

“I do believe I have.” Fíli answered in a quiet voice filled with understanding as he continued to watch Merry and Tilda in the water, who had both stopped their splashing. Merry presently looked to be teaching her how to skip stones atop the water’s surface, even managing to do so despite the gentle waves. The very wind that carried the waves to the shore then carried Merry’s voice to where Fíli and Sigrid were sitting and Fíli caught the tail end of their conversation.

“—and if it skipped more than thrice, that meant that she had to marry him. Ma said that it skipped four times, but Da always insisted it was six and that it made it clear across to the Brandywine’s other side.”

“Clear across? My, the arcs on that throw must have been something else!” came Tilda’s genuinely fascinated response.

“I never managed to work out if he was fibbing or not, though. But Ma never did outwardly say that he was lying.” Merry shrugged before he threw the stone he’d been fiddling with. Despite the wind blowing in their direction and the waves in its path, the stone managed to skip four times before sinking out of sight, the feat impressive to everyone but the hobbit himself, it seemed. “I think it was just a story.”

“It’s a rather good story.” Tilda said, tone suggesting her lips were pulled into a soft, slightly sad smile.

“Yes. I always thought so.” Merry concurred, expression out of Fíli’s line of sight, but tone suggesting he was giving another one of his melancholic, wistful looks that Fíli now could not unsee.

Well, despite all odds, Fíli had discovered the precise problem. Now that only left the extremely more challenging matter of finding the right way to deal with it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned for this part of the story to be a part of the next chapter, but it didn’t really mesh well. So think of this as an interlude of sorts.
> 
> Please review and let me know what you think. :)


	3. Chapter 3

“I had no idea you had such a love for water.” Fíli had said, drawing Merry’s attention. The boy then pulled his hand out from said water, where he had been happily letting the boat’s wake lap through his fingers. The dwarf was watching him with a strange expression, looking every bit as laughably disapproving as his Ma did whenever Merry hung too far over the edge of the boat for her liking.

“I had no idea you were so opposed to it.” Merry merely returned as he flicked his hand in Fíli’s direction, causing the water droplets still clinging to his hand to disperse and hit Fíli with pretty keen accuracy. Fíli even flinched away, as if the boy had thrown a dagger at him, much to Merry’s pleasure.

Fíli glared, momentarily dropping one of the oars to wipe the back of his clothed arm across his face to dry it. “Don’t distract the way-farer!” he ordered in a voice that told of his panic. Merry couldn’t help but feel entirely unsympathetic. Ever since boarding the little dinghy, Fíli had been fretting over every one of Merry’s little movements, almost as much as Dori or Bilbo would have. Merry wouldn’t tolerate such anxious behavior from Fíli, of all dwarves.

“Relax, would you? We’re far enough out now that you could probably let us drift for a while.” Merry said as he relaxed back in his seat as much as he could. 

While it was true that he was far more used to a river that did most of the work in terms of movement, and he hadn’t ever been on a body of water quite as expansive as the Long Lake before, Merry was confident they’d be fine to just take it easy for a bit. Fíli had focused far too much on rowing so far in this trip, which was no fun at all. It was like he couldn’t speak and row at the same time, unless it was to tell Merry to stick whatever limb he had decided to throw into the water back inside the boat. Merry almost wished that Tilda and Sigrid didn’t stay on shore; they’d have been far better companions than Fíli was presently being.

“Drift?” Fíli repeated back in a tone that suggested surprise and a desire to not-do-that. Though surprisingly, he released his grip on the oars with almost hilarious caution and looked to the sides of the boat as their movement gradually slowed.

“‘Atta boy.” Merry drawled, ignoring Fíli’s annoyed glower as he leant over the side of the boat and dropped the small anchor in the manner that one of Tilda’s guardsmen had instructed. It should keep them from going too far out or from being entirely carried back to shore for the time being. 

When Merry returned to resting comfortably in his seat, it was to the familiar sight of the dwarf across from him watching him with a strange expression. Merry’s patience was wearing thin in this regard. He felt as though Fíli’s gaze had been lingering on him all day, as if a thought rested on the tip of his tongue but never made it past his lips.

Merry cocked a brow, his patience gone apparently. “What is it?” he practically barked. He had no idea why his tone was always so biting these days, as though he couldn’t help but add attitude to every sentence that came out of his mouth. He’s learned to live with the disappointment in himself over it at this point though. It was just the way he was now, he accepted. _Un-merry Merry…_

Realizing he’d been caught, Fíli looked pointedly away, only managing to irritate Merry further. “What is what?” Fíli merely returned in a non-answer.

Merry rolled his eyes. “With the _staring._ You’ve been looking at me funny all day.”

He should have long since been used to the lad’s bluntness, but Merry’s direct inquiry clearly caught Fíli a bit off guard, which wasn’t like him. He looked sheepish but no less defensive of his own actions as he answered, “Well, it’s nothing. Just that the boating-business caught me off guard, is all. Didn’t know you liked it so much.” he reiterated.

No surprise there. “Well, it’s not like it’s something you’d know, considering we live underneath a mountain and all.” Merry simply rebutted with a shrug.

“Even still,” Fíli continued, finally leaning back in his seat to gently rest against the bow as much as the balance allowed. “I’d no idea you’d seem so at home. You grew up near a river, you say? Seems a far-cry from similar to the Long Lake.” he pointed out.

“I’ll admit, even the Brandywine’s not much compared to here, but water’s water.” Merry shrugged once more, looking back down to the lake’s flowing surface. Stiller and clearer than the Brandywine, but deeper and far more deadly, from what he’s been told. “Learn your way one way, the others aren’t hard to figure out. It’s just a manner of minding yourself. So I wouldn’t lean back on the bow, if I were you. You’re far heavier than I am, after all. You’ll throw the balance.”

Fíli immediately corrected himself, sitting up straight in a jerky motion that had the boat rocking. Both Fíli and Merry’s hands then shot out to grip the sides of the boat to keep themselves steady.

“And don’t move so quickly either!” Merry barked, honestly flabbergasted at the dwarf’s sheer ineptitude in this regard. Honestly, Merry was a good swimmer (last he got to actually do so) but he wasn’t bold enough to fantasize that he’d escape the cold clutches of the Long Lake. Fíli would sink like a stone, no doubt. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Fíli quickly apologized, once again so out of character that he was throwing Merry off a bit. He then nervously clarified, “Dwarves aren’t meant for water. I wouldn’t think Hobbits were either if such a disapproval of said theory wasn’t sitting right in front of me.”

Merry admittedly felt himself flush at the implied compliment and so looked off to the shore as a means of hiding his face. He could just make out the figures of Tilda and Sigrid and the other humans waiting for them at the water’s edge. Not for the first time, Merry wondered what they were doing and why the two people who grew up on water in a sense even greater than the hobbit did had not been the ones to accompany him out onto the lake when Fíli himself was so outwardly uncomfortable with doing so. He also wondered where Gimli had wandered off to… 

“It depends on the Hobbit.” Merry instead continued, thinking of Frodo for a moment before he quickly banished such sad thoughts from his mind. Of course though, a thought even sadder came to mind as he thought back to the waters that were so important to his childhood, that he had thought would be so important to his future...

“So I’ve been told.” Fíli said, once again watching Merry with a look that was filled with a sort of knowing and confusion. “Who taught you such skills, anyhow?”

Merry felt himself smile despite his heavy thoughts. “My Da.” he answered honestly. He blamed the excitement of the day and the delicious lunch he had for putting him in a more lighter mood and making his tongue far looser than he’d normally let it be. He was contemplative for a moment more, wondering how much he should share, before he decided to continue. “He…He promised me that when I turned twenty, we’d go boating together and travel the length of the Brandywine, to see all of Buckland.” he found himself revealing. 

It had become easier to speak of his family in the past few years, as much as he begrudgingly hated to admit it. The more years that passed, the more distant his memories of them became, which felt like both a blessing and a curse. Not for the first time in these recent months, Merry found himself wondering if his father remembered the promise he had made. If he could even do such a thing. One had to in fact be alive to remember, of course, and Merry had no idea if that were still true of his father...

Momentary bravery gone, the answering silence to his confession was beginning to wane on Merry. He looked over to his older companion and was then once again surprised by the sight he was met with.

Merry wasn’t so good at reading others - not as well as Frodo did, in any case - but even he could tell that Fíli looked utterly...sad, but also strangely understanding in a way that Merry himself didn’t really understand. The dwarf’s elbows were resting on his knees, hands folded in front of his face as he too looked off at something. He noticed Merry’s confused staring of course, since the hobbit wasn’t trying to be subtle or anything and soon looked back at him. His lips twisted up in a sort of smile that Merry wasn’t even sure if he identified properly. 

“My father promised to take me hunting when I turned thirty.” Fíli then said.

“How was it?” Merry asked, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow. He was admittedly a little intrigued that the dwarf was sharing such a fact with him. They hardly ever spoke to one another one-on-one and when they did, it was rarely on matters that seemed so personal.

“I wouldn’t know.” Fíli answered, expression looking quite sad. A moment later, Merry found out why. “He died before he got the chance to take me.”

“Oh.” Merry merely answered, unsure of what to say due to his surprise over such an admittance. He’d of course known Fíli’s father was dead. Less Dwarves made it to old age than Hobbits did, due to their difference in lifestyles, he’s come to learn. Like many other dwarves, Fíli’s father had died in battle, but Merry had no idea Fíli had been so young - or rather, he assumed Fíli must have been young, since he was comparing his aged thirty experience to Merry’s at twenty. “Sorry.” he added awkwardly, unsure of what else to say.

“It’s alright. I was so young, I hardly remember him.” Fíli reassured, but that just caused Merry to frown further.

“But it’s not alright though, is it?” left his lips, seemingly without his permission. He’s been losing control of his tongue more and more as time’s gone on, he’s noticed. He would’ve hoped for the opposite as he’s aged (he’s starting to blame the ever-blunt dwarves for this development, something he thinks ol’ Bilbo would even agree with). Usually he’d be more embarrassed at his outburst, but Merry was _tired._ His chest felt too close to bursting for him to hold back his thoughts, so he continued, “Isn’t it worse to not remember anything?” he posed, volume a bit lower but words still holding his conviction.

Fíli was looking at him, mild surprise evident on his face - probably at Merry’s uncharacteristic willingness to share his feelings - before it morphed back into another uncharacteristic look of his own, a sad smile. 

“I suppose it sometimes feels like it is. There’s really no proper way to go about it though - missing someone.” Fíli clarified. “You feel bad that you don’t remember them as well as you would like but at the same time, you’re glad you were able to forget what their constant presence felt like. Remembering hurts more than forgetting, sometimes.”

Merry looked back down to the water silently, brows furrowed. He reached down and had his fingers breach the surface once again, if only to give himself something to do as he sat in thought. 

The water was chilled, though not freezing as he first experienced it three years ago. It wouldn’t be cold this time of year, after all. Not with the warm winds passing over it and the sun shining down upon it. 

The Long Lake became static and disruptive in the winter, ice flows laddening it's usually free movements. Some winters it even froze over entirely, becoming still and quiet, except for the noisy _cracks_ that’d sound every once in a while, telling of the water’s building rage over being repressed for so long. The spring was the result of that accumulated rage, the water crashing through the ice in a destructive manner as the sun thinned the ice and the water built up to the point where it’d burst through anything in its path, like a poorly constructed bridge or dock (he’d seen that result far too often in the Shire, always followed by the sight of his father shaking his head as he’d mutter something about country folk not knowing what they were doing). But the intensity of the spring’s great thaw and flood was only temporary. Summer would bring back the water’s easy, free-flowing movements. 

The Long Lake was like the Brandywine, in that way, Merry thought. It’s temperance relied upon the seasons. Sometimes Merry felt that way about himself too. Every year his birthday arrived and every anniversary of their move to the Mountain, he felt his moods wane and change, as if caused by a current or a changing of the seasons. His mood during his birthday was like the winter, quiet, but it's foulness building. The anniversary of the Shire’s Fall and their subsequent move to the Mountain caused the foul mood to crash over Merry like the floods of the spring, coursing through him and disrupting his temporary happy as if it were a thinned patch of ice or a poorly constructed bridge…

 _Dear Yavanna,_ he was starting to sound like Bilbo. However, as flowery of an analogy as it was, that didn’t really change the fact that it was how he felt. Both times of the year were placed quite soon after each other, so there was only a small period of time in his life where it seemed like Merry didn’t have to worry about one or the other. When his birthday passed, he’d worry about the destructiveness of spring. When the anniversary of the Shire’s Fall passed, he’d worry about winter’s freezing quiet. There was really no winning for him.

“It’s better that they’re dead though, isn’t it?”

Merry turned to Fíli so quickly that he almost rocked the dinghy himself. As he looked at the dwarf with clear shock, an expression more similar to Fíli’s usual countenance then crossed his face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Fíli chided in a voice that suggested mild amusement, before it turned rather somber once more, though no less sure of himself. “My grandfather, my uncle, my father… They’re all dead. I _know_ they’re dead. I know when they died, I even know _how_ they died. I know there’s no chance of them ever coming back.” he said as he looked up to the sky with something akin to acceptance. His gaze then returned to Merry and the young hobbit felt as if his own thoughts were suddenly laid bare, for the dwarf’s next words were, “But that’s not the same for you now, is it?”

Merry felt as if he’d been struck. Because...Because that was _it._ That’s what had always bothered him so much about the hobbits’ whole situation. That’s what he’s always wanted to voice but never _could._ What was a comfort to the others was his biggest torment. The _not knowing…_

“I—” Merry began, his throat suddenly feeling awfully dry. He imagined it was his body giving him one last chance to rethink what he was about to say. Giving him a chance to not say it at all, in fact. But this was his only chance, said a quiet voice. His only chance to speak his mind about this. Fíli was here, ready to listen. He’d prompted this conversation, for Yavanna’s sake. Plus, they didn’t see each other as much as he did the other dwarves, like the Ri’s, since the crown-prince was always so busy all the time... There wouldn’t really be any opportunity for this conversation to make their future interactions awkward.

So, instead of listening to the louder part of his mind that screamed at him to _stop, you’ll regret it,_ Merry cleared his throat before he attempted to speak again, casting away whatever reservations he had;

“Sometimes I almost wish that they _were_ dead.” he admitted, his voice a near whisper as he said it aloud for the very first time, the weight of such a realization crashing over him almost as heavily as it did the first time he had thought of it. “Sometimes I wish that they were really dead.” he reiterated, feeling as terrible as the truth he was admitting, but finding himself unable to stop the words from seemingly voicing themselves. “My Ma, my Da, my Gran… Sometimes I wish I knew for a fact that they were dead. Sometimes I wish I could’ve seen them slip away with my own eyes. That way…That way it wouldn’t feel like they’re just _missing._ That way they’d really actually be gone.”

Now that it was out there in the open, Merry had an odd feeling of hollowness stemming from somewhere inside him. He finally admitted his ugly truth and for some reason, the world did not explode and he was not struck dead for admitting he had such awful thoughts. It was all rather anti-climatic, Merry had to admit. That didn’t stop him from feeling any less shameful, however. Fíli’s silence was deafening. 

Until it wasn’t.

“It makes sense to me.” Fíli shrugged, his nonchalance causing Merry to gawk at him. “When they’re dead, they’re a memory. When they’re missing, they’re out there somewhere, they’re just not with you, for whatever reason. Which can sometimes feel worse.” he accurately deduced, looking utterly unaffected by Merry’s outburst. In fact, he looked like he had almost expected for Merry to say what he said. Which was mad, Merry thought, because who would ever think up something so— 

“I understand, lad.” Fíli reiterated before he gave another shrug, this one smaller and a bit more helpless looking. “Maybe not entirely, but enough to know what you mean. They’re gone. You don’t know why and you don’t know how but most importantly, you don’t know for how long. And that’s worse than knowing any of those things.”

Merry looked pointedly away once more, back to the water’s surface. “You don’t think it’s wrong that I think that, though?” he asked, rather ticked off at himself for sounding so small and unsure. But he was. As much as he liked to act otherwise, Merry _didn’t_ know everything. Oftentimes he feels like he doesn’t know anything at all, in fact.

“Not at all.” Fíli answered quickly, voice and countenance back to his usual self assured calm, so he swiftly earned Merry’s attention again, if only so the hobbit could prove his ears were deceiving him. But no, they weren’t. Fíli looked utterly normal, as if this topic wasn’t quite as heavy as it truly was, “They say seeing is believing, right? Having someone taken away from you without warning usually just makes loss all the more difficult to deal with, even if getting the chance to say goodbye is a type of pain to which nothing can relate.”

Merry folded his arms and rested them on his knees, still just able to make out the water’s surface over the edge of the boat, if he shifted his eyes to the side far enough. “I don’t even know what I’d say if I could say goodbye.” he honestly said, feeling rather defeated. 

“I think your problem, lad, is that you think too much of the _if’s.”_ Fíli reasoned. “It doesn’t matter _if_ you’ll see them again. It doesn’t matter _if_ they’re dead or not. It doesn’t matter _if_ you’ll ever get to go home again. What matters is that you’re _not_ home. That your family _isn’t_ here. You miss your family and you miss home and you’re upset about it. And you’re allowed to be.”

Merry was looking back up at his companion again. He felt his hands squeeze his arms in an almost involuntary manner. No one had ever said that to him before, he realized. In fact, oftentimes everyone said just the opposite. That he _‘shouldn’t be upset about things he couldn’t control’..._

He just wanted to _complain,_ to not have his worries be dismissed or offered solutions. Bilbo only ever offered solutions. _‘It’s out of our hands, all we can do is hope for the best,’_ he would say. _‘Just work on becoming somebody your parents would be proud of,’_ he’d instruct. _‘You’re lucky to be alive.’_

That was all ruddy well said and all, but how was Merry supposed to _know_ what his parents would be proud of? He couldn’t ask them and know for himself. He had to assume and _he didn’t want to._ He knew it was childish and selfish to not just outright accept the not-knowing as inevitable, but complaining about the unfairness of it all helped him to reflect on his feelings. It’s helped him to recognize that sometimes, his _luckiness_ in being alive instead of dead or missing felt more like _unfairness._. The unfairness of being left behind to endure. That’s what was most frustrating. And Bilbo didn’t understand. 

There was a similar feeling of unrelatability with his other kinsmen. There was no chance of Frodo ever getting his parents back. They had died long before the Shire was ever attacked by the Goblins, so Merry wasn’t selfish enough to bring up his own struggles with the _if’s._ There were no _if’s_ for Frodo and as terrible as they were for Merry, having none at all seemed far worse.

Pippin was too young to talk things through with. He hardly remembered his family at all, which seemed to make him sad, so all serious talks Merry had with his younger cousin had to be focused on sharing as many stories and details Merry could recall about their family as possible.

And Sam was just as upset about losing his family as Merry was. They were in the same boat, so to speak. Though that seemed to work against them connecting with each other in that regard; their situations were _too_ similar. And as rude as it sounded, Samwise Gamgee was never meant to inherit a family title with as much weight as the Master of Buckland carried. He was never told all his life that he was meant to do something important, to be someone important, and he was never robbed of that future in the same way that Merry was. He didn’t have to feel weighed down by the weight of his family’s name or feel set adrift now that it was gone. 

But here, right now in this boat with him, was someone who could sympathize with Merry in a way that felt similar yet different enough that Merry didn’t have to feel guilty or strange for sharing his troubles. He could share his feelings with someone who was enough of a stranger that their daily lives wouldn’t be affected by the sharing of such burdens. 

Merry looked to Fíli, who was silently sitting there, waiting patiently for Merry to work out whatever it was that was going on in his head. Waiting for him to say something.

Merry’s grip on his upper arms slackened. His whole self seemed to slump with not relief or defeat, but acceptance. This was his one shot, he finally accepted. He didn’t have to worry about others overhearing or blabbing about it, conspiring to solve a problem that wasn’t solvable. 

“Ever since I can remember, my Da was always lecturing me about one thing or another. Going off about how once I was the Master, I had to start taking responsibility for things, for things that were greater than just myself.” Merry began, the words flowing out of his mouth as easily and as naturally as a current, inevitable and free. “I never really ever knew what he meant exactly. I’m sad that I’ll maybe never know, but...but there’s a part of me that also feels sort of relieved. Relieved that I don’t have to worry about that sort of pressure again but also sad that I’ll never know?” he concluded, ending his thoughts in a tone that was more questioning than a statement about his feelings should be. 

He didn’t know why. He really didn’t know why. Whenever he shared his feelings or they overwhelmed him to the point where he took his anger out on others, everyone always asked _why_ he felt the way he did. But _he didn’t know. He really didn’t know._

“That makes sense to me.” Fíli spoke up once more. “On one hand, who wants all that pressure. But on the other, who wants to lose a family in exchange?”

 _Yes,_ some sort of voice within Merry cheered. _Yes, yes, exactly,_ it wanted to say. Though he had some semblance of ego to maintain, so instead of eagerly jumping at the opportunity of an outlet, he instead took a deep breath and then continued to evenly speak.

And he spoke and spoke and Fíli just sat there and _listened._ Every now and then, at what felt like all the right moments, Fíli would tell him that it was alright, that what Merry was saying and feeling made sense. That yes, terrible things had happened to him and yes it was alright to feel terrible because of them, but it was also alright to enjoy his life as is. That he could just let today be enough. 

He could try to just be Merry. Merry who didn’t have to be either merry or un-merry all of the time. He could be happy for all that he had but angry because of all that was taken from him. He could be a dutiful son who missed his family but free to not be haunted by the ghosts of them either.

As they spoke, Fíli never offered any possible solutions to Merry’s problems. He just sat there and listened, because there _were_ no solutions. All that there was were the feelings that Merry was presently feeling and by listening to him, Fíli allowed Merry to work through all these emotions in a way that didn’t lead to him feeling awful about himself. And that day, adrift on the Long Lake, Merry realized that was all he was ever really looking for, for someone to listen to his complaints unbiasedly. That _that_ on it’s own was enough. 

At least for now, the unseen days could remain. Today, in that moment - with nobody to overhear or tell him otherwise - however he was feeling was enough. _Whoever_ Merry was now was enough, not only because it seemed to be enough for Fíli, but that it felt that way for Merry himself.

Whoever he was or whoever he became didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was Merry, Merry who was sometimes sad and frustrated and overwhelmed but other times happy and gleeful and well, merry. Merry despite all that he had lost.

And that had to count for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The bit about unseen days is a reference to the quote “Let the unseen days be. Today is more than enough.” from another work by Tolkein, _The Children of Húrin._  
>  *You can always catch me just constantly alluding to the fact that I think that water is Merry's element, no matter the universe. There's just so many interesting analogies that could be made for it and Merry's personality has always stricken me as very tumultuous yet serene, the way that bodies of water can be.  
> \----  
> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I think I've let it plague me long enough, lol. Things got rather heavy and admittedly, I was projecting onto Merry my own feelings of grief quite a bit, so it got a little more difficult for me to write as it went on. On top of that, he's still a child so I didn't want him seeming too self aware or understanding. I also wanted to keep it realistic by having Fili not actually solve anything, so that lead to sort of a lack-luster ending, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought. Only a short-ish prologue left. I hope you're all doing well. :)

**Author's Note:**

> _A million choices, though little on their own_   
>  _Became the heirloom of the heaviness we’ve known_


End file.
